


Labeling Parties are so much fun!

by StarSock9



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Developing Friendships, Dramatic David Rose, Fluff and Humor, Gen, POV David Rose, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSock9/pseuds/StarSock9
Summary: The David-Stevie-Patrick trio seems to have developed a Twyla-shaped tumor.
Relationships: David Rose & Twyla Sands, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: /r/FanFiction Prompt Challenge #19 / June 2020





	Labeling Parties are so much fun!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to my beta reader Coeurire, who introduced me to Schitt's Creek. Thank you as well to my writing group for your lovely feedback, Amintadefender, ST_Le, and Hibbidyhai (on FFn).

Once a month, David hosts a labeling party. It isn’t that labeling is boring. His pride and joy in life is manifested in every single beautiful Rose Apothecary sticker he meticulously places on every single bottle. That being said, he doesn’t mind a bit of company.

His husband Patrick and best friend Stevie are the only guests, but that’s exactly the way he likes it. Sure, they’re both country hicks, and boy oh boy do they dress like it. Patrick may be an accountant, but that doesn’t mean he has to dress like one. As a young ladyboss, Stevie really ought to ditch the oversized plaids and try to look the part. Yet somehow, they’re the only ones in this backwater town that have any sort of sophistication. Now that the rest of his family has moved away, he feels like a single silent swan surrounded by a horde of honking geese.

These parties are a great way to move their older perishables without resorting to some tacky sale price. The three of them hang out on their living room floor snacking on whatever cheeses are getting too old to sell and sipping on mimosas. Patrick and Stevie set up their paperwork on opposite ends of the custom-built coffee table and sit cross-legged on the English chestnut floor. David leans against the floral jacquard couch with the box he’s working on at his feet with the boxes of unlabeled products stacked on one end of the couch and the labeled boxes on the other end.

Twyla’s here today, just the tumor their trio needs. Patrick’s been talking to her about the taxy boring side of running a business. Admittedly, her silky blue sundress and delicate silver necklace chain with a simple blue teardrop pendant pair very nicely and complement his party theme, but just because she has a modicum of taste does not mean he wants a hokey backwater waitress barging in on the isolated sanctuary of class that is his charming little cottage home.

David brings the cheese platter into the living room. Twyla is sitting at the center of the coffee table. “Okay,” he says. “Sooooo, not to make anyone feel out of place, but I usually put the cheese platter _right there.”_

“David, I think we can find somewhere else to put the cheese platter,” Patrick says, tapping his fingers on his papers with those little rubber thimble thingys.

“Oh, no, that’s okay, I can sit on the floor over here and just hunch over like this. My mom always said it’s a good idea to put some strain on your back, the pain is a sign that you’re working those muscles and keeping it strong,” Twyla says, and starts stacking her paperwork. Honestly, it’s the least she can do if she’s going to insist on being where she doesn’t belong.

“That’s not necessary, Twyla,” Patrick says, putting his hand on her papers so she can’t pick them up. “Maybe we should sit at the dining room table today so there’s room for everyone?” So much for having a supporting husband who’s always on his side!

“Well, that’s one… idea…” David begins, but trails off when Patrick gives him a withering glare.

“Ooh, I have an idea,” Stevie says, leaning forward with both elbows on the table. “You guys can have Jake make you a bigger coffee table.” How could she bring up Jake at a time like this? She has utterly betrayed him and all that a best friend should stand for!

Patrick and Stevie turn towards David with matching wicked grins.

Humiliated, David mumbles, “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Hey, here’s an idea, maybe since we have a few extra people today, we should move our little party to the dining room.”

“That’s a great plan, David,” Patrick says and gives Twyla a wink. He piles his paperwork on the keyboard of his laptop so he can transplant himself to the dining room more easily. Stevie and Twyla follow suit.

When the three of them are settled into their seats in the dining room, Stevie says, “Wow. This is a much more comfortable place to work. Such a nice room too. We should sit in here for all our labeling parties.”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s great. Now would anyone like to help me move all these boxes?” David says.

Stevie looks around the room. “I don’t know, David, I’m pretty… hmm, what’s that word your mother loves so much… _entranced_ by your interior décor. I don’t think we appreciate how tasteful this space is often enough, I’m just really feeling the need to drink it all in.”

David has had enough of her sass. Even a blind homeless racoon would recognize how brilliant he was to pair Pellegrino ombre curtains with the Chateau de Ville dining room set. Such flimsy attempts at flattery are honestly just insulting his intelligence. “Well if you’d like to continue ‘drinking in’ all my hospitality”—he snatches her flute—"and my jampagne”—he flashes a toothy grin-grimace—"I’d appreciate a bit of help with these boxes.”

“All right, David, enough with the theatrics, we were only teasing. We’ll help you with the boxes,” Patrick says, standing.

“I’m not being theatrical!” David caterwauls, incensed that his husband would take Stevie’s side.

“David, you’re threatening to withhold mimosas! That’s a cardinal sin,” Patrick says and gives David a kiss on the cheek. David can never stay mad at him.

Everyone helps move the boxes, and David lays his sheets of precious labels out on the table. Maybe this is a better location, since the big flat dining room table gives him more room to lay out his stickers and avoid crinkling the edges. Not that he’ll ever admit it. Why on Earth are Patrick and Stevie so fucking determined to act like Twyla being here hasn’t annihilated their group dynamic is a mystery. It’s so obvious she doesn’t belong.

They all settle in and work in silence for a while, enjoying their cheese and mimosas. No conversation to enjoy, how could there be, when their classical symphony of companionship has been accosted with accompaniment from an accordion?

The silence is broken when the printer suddenly starts clattering behind Twyla, and she yelps and almost spills her drink.

“Sorry,” Patrick says. “Forgot to warn you that I’m printing something.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Twyla says. She listens to the printer chugging away. When it finishes, she collects the papers and hands them to Patrick. “Ooh, spreadsheets. These look so sophisticated.”

“They’re not as complicated as they look,” Patrick says.

“Oh please, don’t be so modest. That’s my man, Mr. Sophistication,” David crows proudly.

Twyla gives David a smile. “David, I have to say, you really are a lovely host. Such a charming house, and your décor is impeccable as always. The cheese is incredible too. If it’s this amazing when it’s old, I can’t even imagine how good it is fresh. And who knew jampagne can actually be palatable when you serve it the right way?”

David is a sucker for compliments. If she keeps this up, he might be forced to admit that he finds cheap amethyst more appealing than rare sapphire. “Oh, please, it was nothing. You’re making me blush.” He would hide his face if he could, but he has stickers on his fingers.

“Hey, since I’m up, should I pour everyone another round?” Twyla offers.

“Yes, please, thank you Twyla,” everyone says. Maybe she’s not a trio-tumor, but a nice addition to their quartet.

As the buzz kicks in, they start to talk more and work less. Twyla asks more questions about Patrick’s spreadsheets, and the two of them talk shop. David asks Stevie for an update on the latest Roland and Johnny antics at the motel, which are always amusing.

David and Stevie go silent when they hear Patrick ask, “So, Twyla, where did you get the money to buy the café anyway?” The three of them have been speculating for months over what sort of crazy loan shark situation their airheaded acquaintance must have gotten herself into in order to afford it. But so far, no one had worked up the courage to ask. Patrick would make a great paparazzo.

“Oh,” Twyla says, looking down and twirling her hair. “I’m surprised you guys don’t already know. I told Alexis, and I thought for sure she’s incapable of keeping a secret.”

David’s jaw drops open. Patrick and Stevie express their surprise with comparatively subtle raised eyebrows. “Well don’t keep us in suspense forever, or I might accidentally murder Alexis with my mind!” David says.

“Well… I won some money in the lottery…” Twyla rocks in her chair and her eyes fixate on a doorknob.

Patrick senses her discomfort and tries to rescue her. What a little white knight he is. “That’s wonderful, Twyla, congratulations.”

“Oh that’s a relief,” Stevie says, deflating dramatically.

Everyone stares at her.

“What?” Stevie says. “The timing was suspicious, she bought the café right after we got the loan for Rosebud Motels, so I was worried that Mr. Rose or maybe Roland might have done something, financially speaking, without my consent.” She pulls her knees to her chest and flips her hair so that it obscures her face. “Which is why… I asked Patrick to… see if he could… get some information… regarding…”

David and Twyla slowly twist their necks toward Patrick like dolls in a horror movie. Patrick chuckles nervously, shaking his head. “Twyla, look. Stevie made it all sound really suspicious, but I really was just asking out of genuine concern. Stevie and I… okay, so you heard Stevie’s theory already… so _my_ theory was that you had seen the success of Rose Apothecary, and saw the Rosebud Motel loan go through, and maybe got too excited to follow along on that bandwagon, and… maybe… in the process… might have gotten yourself into a situation with a less-than-reputable lender.”

“Oh! My God! How much time did you guys spend speculating about this?” David scolds.

“I guess kind of a lot…” Stevie mumbles into her knees.

“David, I have to come clean,” Patrick blurts out way too fast, “we also speculate on how much money your mom makes on Sunrise Bay, and how much Alexis makes working in PR, and we don’t have to speculate about your dad because he’s Stevie’s business partner so we already know what he’s making but we do gossip about it a lot.”

“Oh! My God! I am stunned speechless!” David exclaims. “I cannot believe that my husband and my best friend sit around eyeing other people’s money like a bunch of vultures! It’s savage and uncouth! And I will not have that kind of talk under my roof!” He picks up the cheese platter and storms off with it. “I am eating this!” he yells over his shoulder.

“Yeah, David, we figured that out. You didn’t have to explain,” Stevie says.

David slams the screen door on his way out.

He sits on the stone steps of his porch and contemplates his cheese. Those guilty mongrels! First, they gang up on him, tormenting him with memories of Jake for no good reason! Then, they unfurl canards over Twyla’s personal finances! Patrick is acting like some skeevy bookkeeper and Stevie like some brown-nosing entrepreneur. It’s a good thing they have David around to keep them honest, else they would no doubt be conning poor Twyla out of her fortune just like those IRS wretches did to the Rose family.

Twyla comes outside after a few minutes.

“You forgot your mimosa,” she says, and hands him his drink.

“Thanks,” he says and takes a long gulp.

She sits down on the steps next to him, folding her legs elegantly, too classy for this podunk town. Maybe David has more in common with her than he realized.

“Thank you for saying something.” She shuffles her skirt around and he realizes she’s wearing one of Alexis’s old dresses. “No one ever… ever since the lotto, my so-called friends and family have treated me like an ATM.”

“Well, believe it or not, I know the feeling,” he says grimly and takes a sip of his drink. “My supposed friends in New York had no interest in even speaking to me once my family lost everything.”

She twirls her fingers around the hem of her pretty dress. “Do you ever wonder… do you ever blame your family’s wealth for their faults? I mean, I don’t… it just seems sort of selfish that they all skipped town the second they got their fortune back. Does money… is it true what they say? That money always corrupts people?”

David places a hand on her shoulder. “I miss them too, Twyla. But they didn’t belong here.” He rubs her shoulders for a while, and she smiles up at him. “To answer your question, no. I do sometimes wonder, what if I’d grown up having high school slumber parties where people took jello shots and played spin the bottle and never heard of a designer brand? Would I be a happier person if I had a normal life?”

Twyla is a little dense. Poor thing can’t recognize a rhetorical question even when it slaps her in the face. “I guess… maybe you would… but… also, maybe you wouldn’t?” she says.

David chooses not to poke fun at her. After all, he has finally found another swan who can glide elegantly over the waters of Schitt’s Creek with him. They have an obligation to themselves and to each other to stick together, lest their grace eventually fade amidst this gaggle of geese. Setting down his now empty glass, he says, “If coming to this town taught me anything, it’s that money doesn’t define who I am. Other people’s opinions don’t define who I am. I don’t care how many people make fun of me for wearing a ‘skirt,’ I am who I am, and I’m proud of who I am. And I’m proud of the store, and I’m proud to be married to Patrick, and I’m proud to own this quaint little cottage home in this quaint little podunk town…”

Twyla bows her head, trying not to tear up.

David honestly never believed he’d be in any position to dispense life advice. This poor girl is just so bashful about everything she does, letting everyone treat her like she’s nothing but a waste of space. David would be remiss if he didn’t do something to rehabilitate her tragic inclination towards self-loathing. “My point is, you should be proud too,” he says. “You’re a good person, an important part of the community here, and you’re going to do great things with the café.”

Twyla lets a single tear fall and smiles. “Thank you, David. You’re right, I am proud of who I am, and what I do.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says and gives her a hug. “By the way, you are soooo invited to our next labeling party. I have had enough of those two ganging up on me.”

She laughs and returns the hug.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt: Pride! 
> 
> I really wanted to figure out how the pride theme could still be interesting even in a character who's been out and proud forever. But I've never written fluff before and I didn't really know how, so this was definitely a learning experience. I'm so grateful that we have characters like David these days who are so open and positive, it really is a gift. And I'm thankful as well to Coeurire for introducing me to Schitt's Creek, I can't believe I was so late to the party, everything about the show is right up my alley and it's wonderful. 
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed reading this half as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and I wish you all a happy pride month!


End file.
